


Rebel Heart

by Defira



Series: Wild Mage [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2769227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In just a few short weeks in Ferelden, Corinne Trevelyan has already witnessed the ugly face of war first hand. Attacked by rogue templars on their way to the conclave in Haven, she and her family have seen no end to the atrocities committed in the name of freedom and order- and that's without Corinne struggling with a growing identity crisis about her place and privilege as a free mage. </p>
<p>Between Corinne and Haven, however, is the famous Redcliffe castle- home of Arlessa Isolde Guerrin, a brutally uncompromising advocate for mage rights ever since the death of her son, and most recently home to the mage rebellion at her invitation. Their journey will take them straight through Redcliffe, and they are far from unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Corinne did not know what she’d expected when she thought of a mage rebellion, but it certainly wasn’t this. Rebellion brought to mind great romantic tales of passionate heroes fighting against a tyrant, stories of daring and risk and charisma, swords held aloft in challenge while stirring speeches roused a crowd to a frenzy. Ferelden, after all, was the place for rebellions, was it not? The great Rebel Queen Moira Theirin, fighting off the Tyrant of Orlais, the shame of Sophia Dryden and her Warden Rebellion, Elissa Cousland overthrowing the regency of Loghain Mac Tir...

But not this. Maybe she was naive, but she had never imagined it like this. 

The deeper they travelled into Ferelden, the more trouble they encountered- the caravans of refugees grew in number, fleeing towards the questionable safety of the northern cities. They were desperate, paranoid, bitter; more often than not they greeted their party with near hysterical suspicion, and Corinne found herself grateful that her aunt’s staff was discreet enough to be taken for an old woman’s walking stick. 

Even more so that she had never felt comfortable wielding a staff herself. 

They saw rebel mages, and more templars, and once Riyo even herded them off of the road in a hurry, barking at them in a strained voice to get into cover. They had just reached the safety of the treeline when the reason for their panic became apparent- a running battle progressing down the road, men and women in dented armour and ragged leathers screaming and cursing as they did their best to kill one another. 

The rest of the family shrank into the shadows of the forest, crouching down and moving slowly so as not to draw the attention of the combatants. Unable to help herself, Corinne scurried up a nearby tree, ignoring Riana’s hissed commands that she get back down; she crept out onto a branch for a better view, and watched in morbid fascination at the twisted hate and fear on their faces as spells crackled and seared while swords slashed and hacked. A woman in filthy Circle robes was halfway through summoning some seething cloak of shadows when an arrow ripped through her throat in a spray of blood. A man in broken armour was clutching his arm to his chest, the shattered remains of his shield dangling off his forearm, and he was far too exhausted to defend himself from the surge of violent purple light that snapped forward and consumed him, his agonized shrieks echoing down the hill to where they hid.

Below her, Corinne heard Samira start crying, and Niino hurriedly shushed her; a hard task, given that it sounded as if Niino herself was in tears too. 

It went on for several minutes- one combatant would fall, only for more to spill over the hill and take their place, a seething, hateful outpouring of violence that made so little sense to her no matter how long she stared in horrified fascination. 

When the fighting finally moved on, trickling slowly in the opposite direction and out of sight down the road, Corinne slowly climbed down from the top of the branches, dropping the last eight feet or so onto the ground. Vilas was crouched on the ground nearby, one hand over his face and his back to the road, while Riana was leaning against a tree trunk as if she were about to be ill. Niino was sobbing, held tight in Galad’s arms with Samira clutched tightly between them, and Asha was lying on the ground curled up in a ball, shaking violently. 

Near to the edge of the treeline, Riyo and Leylo stood hand in hand, unspeaking as they stared out towards the bodies strewn across the road. 

Corinne waited numbly, hoping for someone else to talk, desperate for someone- _anyone_ \- to take the initiative, but the silence grew until she wanted to scream. Her hands were shaking as she reached up to pull her satchel from over her shoulder, dropping it onto the ground with a thud; her coat followed next, and the movement finally caught Riana’s attention. 

Something in her face might have given her away, or maybe it was the strength of the bond beginning to solidify now that they were together again, but the look of misery on Riana’s face shifted to one of desperation. “Rin,” she began, taking a step towards her.

Corinne kicked off her shoes and shucked her shirt up over her head, shivering at the cold Ferelden air against her bare skin. “I’ll scout ahead,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Rin, you don’t have to-”

“Someone has to take the initiative in a crisis,” she said, her words sharper than she meant for them to be. She did not give her cousin time to answer or argue, stripping the last of her clothing in one movement and shifting her form in the next. Before anyone could call her back, she was gone, tawny wings flapping furiously to gain momentum and get her beyond the trees and to the safety of the sky.

Riana shouted after her, but she didn’t look back. She didn’t really have a neck capable of allowing her to look back, anyway. 

She’d save that comment for later, for Vilas. Someone deserved to laugh about this nightmare.

She flew higher than necessary, and for longer than was sensible; she’d said she was going to scout ahead, and she had meant it in a half hearted way. Really she simply had to escape, to get away from the crushing, painful silence her family carried as they stood witness to the atrocities of this war, to escape from the knowledge that had she stayed there for a second longer she would have burst into tears, horrified beyond measure at the unmitigated slaughter she had just witnessed. 

The mages wanted their freedom- that, she could understand, to an extent. She had nearly killed her own father for threatening her freedom, once. But she could not fathom the reasoning behind the actions of the templars, nor could she grasp the fact that this was not just a rebellion, this was open war. This was bodies rotting in the roadside, children slaughtered, entire countries collapsing into anarchy. 

She’d denied it to herself for as long as possible, burying her head in the sand and clinging to her lofty ideas about the southern mages and their barbaric Circle towers, but what good did it do her to ignore the violence and the chaos overtaking them all? To give herself some vague sense of superiority?

What a remarkable prize that would be when she had nothing but ashes to lord herself over. 

At least as an eagle she couldn’t cry for all the horror she had witnessed and all the stupidity she had carried for so long. 

She circled over the road for a good few miles in either direction, looking for any new threats. Smoke curled upwards from the trees, the heat of the fires sending her rocketing upwards on pillars of warm air, where she drifted slowly downwards again; every now and then she spotted flashes of movement and colour, far sharper and brighter than she could have spied had she kept her human eyes. She counted their numbers, watched their slow progression along the road, and circled back finally to warn the others. 

They had not gone far- Riana and Vilas had made a half hearted attempt to clear the bodies from the road before giving up, though they still stood clear of the trees with the ransacked bags by their feet. Riana looked up instinctively as she approached, and Corinne almost fell out of the air at the immense wave of relief she felt from her. 

As Riana shielded her eyes against the setting sun and watched her approach, Corinne buried deep the guilt she felt at having abandoned her so easily not so long ago. 

She shifted as she drew close to the ground, staggering slightly as the momentum of her flight carried her forward, not quite so steady on human feet after an hour or two of weightlessness on the air currents. Riana put out an arm to catch her, and Corinne smiled gratefully at her from beneath her tangled hair. 

“I suppose you’ll be wanting your clothes back,” she said, her tone flat in a way that made Corinne wince. 

She attempted a charming smile, and from nearby she heard Vilas snort in amusement. “If it’s not too much trouble,” she said, doing her best to sound apologetic. 

Riana handed her her satchel, but when Corinne reached out to take it, she kept a firm grip on it. “Don’t ever run off where I can’t protect you,” Riana said under her breath. There was a steeliness in her eyes that bordered on frightening, and Corinne was taken aback. “I spent weeks in hysterics, not knowing if you’d made it safely home to Ostwick when they annulled Dairsmuid. So if you ever feel the need to run off alone in the middle of a warzone ever again-”

“I’m sorry, Ria,” she said, tugging on the satchel until she relented and let her have it. She crouched down and dug her clothes out, struggling to cobble together her feelings into a rational explanation as she tugged her shirt down over her head. “It was... all a bit too much for me.”

“And is that explanation supposed to make me feel better when I recover your body and have to take the news back to your parents? It was all a bit _much_ for you?”

Halfway through lacing her pants, Corinne paused, shame burning at her eyes. “Ria,” she said quietly, staring at the ground; she couldn’t make eye contact. “I’m sorry.” 

Riana fell silent, and Corinne could feel the awkward storm of emotions within her- her fear and her anger, her frustration and her grief. It matched fairly closely to what she herself felt. When Riana stepped forward she didn’t even question her motives, only leaned in closer as her arms came up around her. 

She could feel Riana trembling, and she didn’t feel so bad for the tears she shed against her shoulder as she silently cried.

“Don’t leave me, Rin,” her cousin rasped near to her ear. “Don’t leave me alone again.”

They did not take to the road again that day, instead camping deep inside the treeline, far enough that their fire would not be noticed by other travellers. Corinne and Ria slept wrapped around one another, not voicing their grief aloud but not denying it either. 

It was a long night. 

It was the worst battle they encountered, but not the only one by far. Not a day went past that they didn’t find scorch marks along the grass, and splatters of blood along the packed earth of the road. Sometimes the trees were still alight, evidence that they had missed walking into a massacre by only an hour, possibly less. Each time, Corinne fought back the wave of revulsion and grief and walked amongst the carnage, dampening each fire with her gift and pressing her hands to the wounds in the earth. She would have been content to leave the forest to regrow in its own time, had it been a natural fire, but magefire burned with an intensity far beyond the norm- there was nothing healing and nourishing in the flames called forth from a mage’s fingertips, nothing that caused anything but imbalance and frustration.

She healed what she could, and ended pain where she could not. The land would go on regardless of what foolishness mortals played out on its surface, but that did not mean that she was content to simply walk past such pointless damage- not when she had it in her to speed the process along. 

So she doused fires, turned the earth, and dug deep to find any seeds that might have survived the heat of the infernos. Where she could, she soothed the trees where the sap had boiled in the trunks, whispering nonsensical words as her fingers sought the strongest pain, the same way a parent might sing to a sick child. 

She documented it all too- she took samples of the seeds, tracings of the leaves. Her notebook was soon fit to bursting from the new sketches she’d taken, and the flowers she’d pressed between the pages; Redcliffe couldn’t come soon enough, as far as she was concerned, because even if she wasn’t particularly enamoured with the rebellion right now, at least she knew she’d be guaranteed to find a vendor selling parchment or notebooks.

Although who knew how much such items were going for in the midst of a war. She made do with the space that she had left, scrawling her notes along the edges of pages, hoping her shorthand would be legible when she came back to it in the coming weeks.

“Are you alright, Rin?” Riana said quietly one morning, more in tune with her moods since their awkward mutual breakdown. “There’s something on your mind today.”

Corinne sighed, rubbing at her face wearily. “I’m okay,” she said slowly, feeling out the best response. “I’m just tired, and filthy. I need a bath, and a pie that doesn’t make me wonder if it’s made out of dog, and I need to wash my clothes. And buy a new notebook.”

“Oh, is _that_ all?”

“Well, there is my ongoing identity crisis and concept of self and confusing attempts to reconcile my own personal experiences as a free mage with the drive behind the mage rebellion.”

“Oh, I thought it was something serious.”

When Corinne cast her a withering look, Riana grinned. “We’ll get you a notebook in Redcliffe,” she promised, her hand brushing against hers while they walked. 

“I don’t know about you, macan, but I only have a handful of silvers left,” she said, toying with her coin pouch where it bounced against her belt. “Do they even _have_ books in Ferelden? It seems too damp to even bother.” 

“Didn’t you see back in Denerim? They paint shit on their dogs- maybe that’s their attempt at literature.”

“I don’t want to go out in public with them anymore,” Vilas called to the whole group. “Because I’d like to get laid and _not_ be brutally murdered by an angry mob next time we stop at a tavern.”

Riana winked at Corinne and quickened her stride, catching up to Vilas and slinging her arm around his shoulders- a comical look, given that he was far shorter than everyone else in the group except for little Samira. “What’s wrong, cousin?” she asked with laughably exaggerated concern. “Are your carnal needs not being met adequately by all of these strapping southern men and their equally strapping women? Has no one _strapped you_ in recent weeks?”

“I am not talking about sex with someone who would rather play Captain, Captain.”

“Sex is awful, and maybe if you used the brain in your head instead of the one between your legs, you might actually comprehend the rules of Captain, Captain.”

“ _There are no rules!_ ” Vilas said angrily, waving his hands quickly as if to express his immense frustration at the children’s game. “It’s all bullshit, it’s a generational conspiracy designed to exacerbate and frustrate otherwise outstanding members of the community like myself.” 

And just like that, Corinne found reasons to laugh amongst the hurt and the shame that was festering in her heart, and though the signs of the war grew worse with every step they took towards the west, she did not feel quite so suffocated by it when Riana held her hand, or when Vilas made a filthy joke just to get her to smile. 

It was not perfect, of course- now that Leylo had planted thoughts of rebellion in her head, and now that she had seen the unprovoked violence that had been unleashed, the blind hatred and rabid fury, well... it was hard to just put those thoughts aside and ignore them. They clamoured for her attention when she couldn’t find the paths towards sleep, whispering in the background of her mind whenever she let her guard down. 

She had freedom, and she had always taken that for granted. Now she was burdened not only with the guilt of such a revelation, but with the knowledge that she would be looked to as a force for good. 

Nothing like insurmountable expectations to spur one into an identity crisis.

When they finally crested a hill and saw the shimmering grey surface of Lake Calenhad, Corinne wanted to fall to her knees and weep in gratitude- and she wasn’t the only one, judging by Vilas’ loud and impromptu declarations of passionate love for the promise of nearby civilization. In the distance, a majestic castle rose up above the lake’s surface, perched upon a craggy little peninsula jutting out from the shoreline. She practically itched with the desire to shed her skin and take to the air, but she dared not risk it this close to a populated area. 

She had a feeling it would have been a remarkable sight from above, though. 

Clustered on the sharply sloped hillside nearest to the castle was the town of Redcliffe itself; even from this distance, Corinne could tell that it suffered from the same confusing mixture of new and old architecture as Denerim and Amaranthine. Old wooden piers sat drooped and sagging into the water right beside newer stone ones, and there were crumbled buildings slouched up beside more recent structures, a jumble of styles and centuries that told the same story she’d seen in the rest of the country. 

Although as they came to a stop on top of the hill and looked down upon the castle and the town, Redcliffe had something significantly different to offer up compared to the two northern cities. Corinne felt her eyes grow wide and her head grow light, while Leylo similarly trailed to an abrupt halt with her hand going up to her mouth. 

Somewhere behind her, she heard Galad curse under his breath, and Niino did not even bother to scold him. 

There was a vast tent city sprawling along the edge of the lake, standing between them and the township proper; the edges of the water were churned up and muddy from the countless feet that had trekked in and out of the lake in the last few hours, and there was a clumsy line of nets bobbing in the water just offshore. There had been some attempts at building, some crude fortifications along the perimeter, mostly, and they had reclaimed some ruins further from the town that the locals had clearly given up on long ago. The air was heavy with woodsmoke from a hundred campfires, acrid and sour, and there were entire swathes of trampled fields and felled trees on the outskirts of the camp.

It was mud and it was fear and it was cold and it was despair- Corinne could taste all of it in the air, the slow hopelessness of a thousand or more strong, clustered together in the desperate belief that they might survive, that they might make a life out of this, that they might not be slaughtered where they stood simply for the magic that ran through their veins. 

Corinne had never questioned what it meant to be a mage- being a mage meant freedom, it meant seeing the world through different eyes each and every day, it meant reaching out beyond the frailty of her own body to touch the vastness of the universe with her heart. 

This was not what it meant to be a mage, and yet here was the proof, utterly undeniable. She could feel the hurt and the anger, taste it; it was under her skin, leeching into her bones, and she did not realise she had fallen to her knees until Riana was beside her, whispering soothingly to her as she brushed the tears from her cheeks and pulled her back from the numb horror that had overtaken her. 

“I don’t understand,” she said, stumbling clumsily to her feet as she clung to Riana. “ _This_ is the life they’re fighting for?”

“This life is an improvement over the alternative, for many of them,” Leylo said softly, her voice noticeably shaking. “Not all, of course, but many. This is what I wanted you to understand.”

From behind them, Asha spat on the ground in disgust. “And they think to call _us_ savages,” she snarled. “We don’t cage our own children, and poke them through the bars with swords- how _dreadfully_ uncivilized of us.”

“Can’t we go around them?” Niino asked in a small voice, and when Corinne glanced at her she was dismayed to see how faint she looked. 

“It will add several hours to our day to approach the town from the other direction,” Riyo said calmly- always calm, always unflappable. And yet they’d been a raider, a pirate, the sort to swagger down the street and walk into a fight with a larger group, if Leylo’s story had any truth to it. How could they be calm in the face of such hopelessness, after weeks of violence and desperation? “If we go through the camp, we will reach Redcliffe by mid afternoon, and we can get some much needed rest.”

“Oh, _sure_ , because they really look like they’re going to have rooms available at the inn,” Vilas said sarcastically, crouched on the ground yet again as he rubbed wearily at his forehead. 

“Your aunt and I have made arrangements,” Riyo said patiently. When everybody looked at them expectantly, waiting for them to elaborate, they simply smiled faintly and gestured for them all to keep walking. 

As Corinne stopped to brush the dirt from her pants, Leylo came up beside her, fingers gentle at her elbow as she drew her closer. “Do you still have Ishaaro’s amulet?” she asked, referencing the charm that Nadifa had given her on the day she had left for Haven. She smiled at Riana and made a shooing motion with her free hand, indicating that Riana should begin the trek down the hill without them.

After a moment’s hesitation, Riana reluctantly turned and followed after the others, her face one of a puppy being denied treats from the table top. 

Corinne watched her go as she fumbled beneath her shirt, tugging free the twisted amber lump on the end of the leather cord. “I haven’t taken it off except when I shift,” she said.

Leylo breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Keep it on while we are here,” she said softly, touching her fingertips to it briefly; the amber flared subtly, as if the sunlight had caught in the depths for a moment. “And do not show it to anyone.”

“Why?”

“It is in your best interest not to draw any more attention than is necessary,” she said. “The amulet mutes your presence to everyone, not just templars- so you will be far less likely to attract the interest of any of the more powerful mages here.”

Tucking it back under her shirt and letting the amber sit warm against her skin again, Corinne said “You know, I feel like a five year old for constantly asking why, but... why do I not want to be noticed by any of the mages here?”

Leylo hesitated- _actually hesitated_ , as if she was afraid to give the answer she wanted to, and that frightened Corinne a great deal more than she wanted to admit to. 

“These people are frightened, and desperate,” Leylo said finally, “and for the most part, they only want food in their bellies, a roof over their heads, and their loved ones at their sides.”

“But?”

“But that does not preclude the possibility that there are not unpleasant individuals in their midst,” she continued. “People who would take advantage of the chaos to further their own goals, or to indulge in their own perversions, will see your gift as too great a temptation.”

Corinne laughed nervously. “What, you mean like blood magic? Mind control?” When Leylo did not answer, the smile dropped from her face. “You’re _serious?_ ”

“Sadly, yes.”

“I thought that was just the sort of thing you’d expect from a ‘vint. Or, you know, in children’s stories.”

Leylo sighed wearily. “Just keep the amulet on,” she said in resignation. “And refrain from talking to anyone.”

She could hear the meaning under the words- _please keep your naivety to yourself, before someone takes advantage of it._

She hefted her satchel up onto her shoulder and cleared her throat loudly, to cover up the petulant hurt she felt at being reminded yet again that her family thought her a fool.


	2. Chapter 2

Lake Calenhad was enormous- she could not see the far side from where she stood, and the horizon was heavy with dark grey storm clouds. She could feel the pull of them even from this distance, the enthralling crackle of elemental power dancing along her nerves, offering up the promise that the rain itself would reach her in only a few hours. The thought of the rolling sheets of lightning, the cold splatter of fat water droplets, the lake choppy and seething from the tug of the wind... it wasn’t soothing, precisely, because her mood was a little too petty for that, but it was refreshing. Invigorating, perhaps. 

There was power in the storm to come, and it sang in her veins; it was something to look forward to, at the very least. 

She and Leylo caught up with the others just as they approached the edge of the camp, and she took Riana’s hand as they walked. The smell was far worse than Denerim or Amaranthine- too many unwashed bodies crammed together in too small a space, reeking of sweat and shit and fear and anger. The main path through the camp, an unpaved stretch of mud between the tents and the shore, was crowded with people, all of whom eyed them warily as they passed through. The tension in the air was so thick that it practically hummed, an almost tangible sound rather than just a sensation; Corinne shivered and hugged herself, trying to ignore the feeling of hostile eyes on her back.

There were little flares of magic everywhere- a woman bending wearily to try once again to make a stack of wet logs burn, a bored looking elf teen reading a book that turned the pages by itself, a man sitting pale and grimacing on a flimsy cot bed as a healer ran hands over a bare shoulder that bore troubling green tinges in the flesh. Corinne was used to magic in the everyday and the mundane, so that in itself did not concern her. What left her uneasy was the lack of sound, the listlessness in the air. In a crowd so large, a refugee camp if she was being honest, she would have expected the shrieking of children and the shouts between friends and some sort of basic acknowledgement that life moved forward. 

But instead sullen and desperate eyes watched them, and she saw burned and bloodied robes hanging outside tents, notched and broken staffs, and at least one funeral pyre burning on the far side of the camp. 

“It’s a war, macan,” Riyo said, surprising her; she hadn’t realised they’d come up beside her. Their voice was quiet, and gentle, as if they could guess at the horror seething within her. “War is never kind, or pretty. War is ugly, and exhausting, and victory never comes without great cost.”

“You’re not even my ilaalin, Riyo,” she said angrily, dashing the tears away with the back of her hand.

“No, but you are my niece- and this is hurting you. For all that you’d like to be aloof and unmoved, you have a good heart. You can’t turn away from the pain of others when you know you have an opportunity to change things.”

“I can’t change _this_ , Riyo,” she said, sweeping her hand out jerkily to indicate the vast camp. “Where are you all getting the idea that I’m destined to be some grand force for change? This is devastating, I’m not going to pretend I’m not terrified and angry by it, but this has threatened _nations_. A _religion_. Just because I agreed to go a damnable conclave doesn’t mean that means I’ve agreed to shoulder the burdens of the world.”

“No, it doesn’t,” they said kindly, shaking their head; the golden chain that hung between their nose and their ear clinked softly. “But it doesn’t mean you have to bear the horror in silence. You’re allowed to hurt, macan.”

“I’m sure the people living in this camp need the support far more than I do,” Corinne said through gritted teeth. She shook off Riyo’s concerned hand and quickened her stride, breaking away from the rest of the family; none of them called after her, and for that she was grateful. She felt alien, uncomfortable in her skin, and she didn’t know if she could stand it if someone else tried to soothe her and reassure her that everything was alright.

If the Trevelyans had kept her, if they hadn’t shunned her in horror at the revelation that she was a mage, would she be sitting in this camp right now? The young woman sitting on the ground there with dead eyes, could that have been her? There was a Circle in Ostwick- or there had been, before the rebellion- so would she have fled here with her fellow mages?

Would she even have survived?

She shivered, wrapping her arms around her middle, and picked her way through the camp; there were conversations taking place quietly, the occasional argument drifting towards her on the wind, and she caught snippets of these discussions as she walked. 

“Maker bless the Arlessa,” said one old man, his eyes shining with desperate, fervent hope while tears ran down his cheeks. He was seated on a stool outside a sagging tent, a Chantry amulet clutched tight in his hands. “Andraste only knows where we would have ended up had she not fought for us.”

The girl sitting at his feet had a different story to tell, her body language sullen and bitter, her mouth pressed together in a thin, unhappy line. “The townsfolk hate us,” she snapped, rolling her eyes when he let out a sound of distress. “It’s only a matter of time before they turn on us, or drive us out. Do you think she’s really going to stand between us and them when the time comes?”

“She gave us a place of _sanctuary_ ,” the old man said, looking scandalized at her blasphemy.

“She gave us a stretch of shit and mud- all she cares about is making herself look like a saint.” 

“Bite your tongue, child- you should be grateful.”

Corinne bit her tongue and kept walking, her stomach seething unhappily because she honestly couldn’t tell if she would have been consumed by the same bitterness as the girl or the clinging to the same desperation and denial as the old man. Would she be joyful simply to be free, or would she resent being thrust into a war like a common criminal with no regard for her personal loyalties?

She caught up to her family on the far side of the camp, nodding tersely at their calls of greeting. Riana fell into step beside her, and Corinne could feel the questions pressing at her lips but did not ask; there were times when she resented the ease with which Ria could read her mood via their bond, but the rest of the time she appreciated when she did not have to find the words to express her desperate need for silence or comfort.

After a half minute, she reached over and took Riana’s hand in hers; she didn’t need to look up to know that Ria was smiling. 

Redcliffe was just as busy as the mage camp, the streets packed with refugees and soldiers and the poor beleaguered townsfolk. They had done their best to improve the morale of things, with coloured bunting hanging between the trees and stone benches placed beneath the branches offering places to rest, lanterns bright like fallen stars amongst the leaves even in the mid afternoon. The doors to the tavern were propped wide open, and the sounds of singing and shouting could be heard from inside; every merchant was likewise busy, trying to talk to multiple customers at once, some of whom seemed to be trying to barter their entire life savings for the most mundane of items. 

“Lady seer!” 

At the shout, their whole family turned towards the voice, as well as some of those closest in the crowd, staring curiously at them. A woman in formal armour approached them, her gleaming silver-white mail with fine red and dark grey livery marking her as an officer, and the way the crowd parted around her in reverence marking her as someone of great significance. 

Corinne watched at her curiously, not least of all because they shared a similar skin tone- although judging by the way she wore her hair in tight braids, she guessed her to be Chasind. 

She came to a stop before Leylo, who did not look the least bit surprised to see her, and dropped to one knee. “Lady seer,” she said, great respect in her voice; a murmur ran through the crowd at her action, and the circle around them grew as the curious pushed a little closer. “My Arlessa bids you welcome to Redcliffe- we had begun to grow concerned that you had met difficulties on the road.”

“No more than to be expected,” Leylo said, gesturing for her to rise. “I apologise, I should have sent word when we left Denerim.”

The soldier stood, her hand going to the pommel of her sword as she stood to attention. “I am Lady Isolde’s champion, Ser Muna,” she said, nodding deferentially to the group. “If you will follow me, I will take you to the castle.”

Leylo smiled and murmured her assent, and the crowd skittered backwards as Muna turned with her, alarmed that the champion might take offence to their ogling. But Muna gave no indication that their curiosity angered her, marching smartly up the hill towards the majestic bridge that connected Redcliffe castle with the shore. Riyo, likewise, followed with complaint, but for a few awkward moments the rest of them stood dumbstruck, trying to take in the revelation that Leylo was apparently acquainted with a family as powerful as the Guerrins. 

“We are going up to the castle,” Vilas said in disbelief, stating the obvious when they caught up to them. “We are walking _past_ the town and walking _up_ to the castle. Redcliffe castle. That castle.”

Leylo glanced over her shoulder at him, looking remarkably composed despite the fact that the rest of them were covered in mud and dust. “Is something wrong, macan?” Leylo asked, amusement in her tone. 

“Oh, nothing of the sort- just sort of gobsmacked at the fact that we are apparently _expected guests_ in a _castle_.” 

Corinne shared none of Vilas’ gleeful astonishment at their turn of fortunes; even knowing she could bathe and indulge in a hot meal did nothing to placate the stone sitting in her stomach as she came to realise that Leylo had withheld far more from her than she’d originally implied. Each new day, each and every conversation, casually brought more detailed schemes to light, further implicating just how carefully the matriarchs had planned this journey. 

Had Nadifa sent her to Haven like this, knowing Ishaaro’s growing political reach and plans and accepting that Corinne was simply a part of them? Had Ishaaro sat Leylo down and explained her goals, and sworn her to secrecy at all costs? 

Was her own family so sceptical of her loyalty to them, after everything they had given her, that they felt the need to hide the truth from her?

Crisp white banners hung from the arches of the bridge, the field so bright that she had to wonder if they were maintained with magic, to stop the vitality from fading. They bore the heraldry of Redcliffe, the crumbled earth as red as blood, and the tower so strikingly grey that they appeared silver when the light hit them at the right angle; they were interspersed with rather less impressive banners from the Circle of Magi. Whether they had been salvaged by the mages during the rebellion, or whether the Arlessa had had them hastily sewn in acknowledgement of their recent alliance, she could not say. 

One thing was certain- no one could walk the path to the castle and not know that Redcliffe stood with the mages. 

From the bridge, the castle seemed far more intimidating than it did at a distance- perhaps it was the way it loomed over them so fiercely, dark stone and narrow windows, a reminder that even if this was a home, it was also a fortress. A bastion in times of war. Glancing over the edge of the waist high wall towards the camp on the near shore, Corinne couldn’t help the shiver that ran down her spine. 

In the courtyard inside the gates, an honour guard stood waiting, with no sign as to whether they’d been hastily assembled at the news of their arrival or whether the poor souls had been standing to attention for hours now. Armour polished to a painful shine caught the late afternoon sunlight, and the red and silver surcoats were freshly starched and pressed, the colours so bright that Corinne had to wonder if they’d only recently been sewn; they stood to attention in rows of two, a silent gauntlet for them to pass through.

She wondered whether it was paranoid of her at all to consider this less of a welcome and more of a subtle flexing of muscle- a display for the sake of a foreign dignitary who could carry the stories of power and competence back home.

More importantly, at the top of the stairs before the main doors to the keep stood three women- or rather, two women and a young girl. 

It was not hard to place the human woman as the Arlessa- she stood with her shoulders straight and her chin high, steel in every inch of her body language, her auburn hair streaked with silver. Her clothing was among the finest Corinne had ever seen, even from the few times she had watched the Trevelyans as they hosted galas in the gardens, and for a brief moment she felt a flicker of awkwardness to be approaching a woman of such calibre while covered in dirt and wearing ragged travelling clothes. 

The girl at her side was clearly her daughter, her hair brassy and a few shades darker than her mother’s, but her nose identical and the way she held herself was like a tiny mirror of the Arlessa, if somewhat more dramatic. She held her chin a tad too high, trying to look down her nose at them, but she only looked like she was about to tip over backwards. Her gown matched her mother's, white and silver and red and rather aggressively Fereldan in the style, as if to proclaim rather loudly where the family’s loyalties lay. 

More interesting, however, was the elf woman standing at the Arlessa’s side, her brown face still youthful despite the lines near to her eyes and the smattering of grey throughout her dark hair. She stood at her side as an equal, and if that had not hinted strongly enough at her identity, then the elaborate mage robes she wore certainly confirmed Corinne’s suspicions. 

The Arlessa of Redcliffe and the Grand Enchanter, highest ranking mage outside of the Imperium and leader of the rebel mages- both of whom seemed to be expecting their arrival. 

If it were a story, Corinne would probably have appreciated the scandal and intrigue of meeting two such powerful women. As it was, she felt ill, further convinced that this was part of some greater scheme that her family was involving her in without her knowledge or consent. 

Ser Muna stopped at the foot of the stairs and dropped to one knee yet again, bowing her head reverentially. “My lady,” she called, her voice carrying over the entirety of the courtyard. “May I present to you Lady Leylo of Dairsmuid, and her entourage.”

Isolde came slowly down the stairs towards them, stopping briefly to touch her hand almost affectionately to Muna’s shoulder. Behind her, the Grand Enchanter offered her hand to the Arlessa’s daughter, and the two of them followed a few steps behind her, waiting patiently for Isolde to dictate the mood of the greeting. 

The Arlessa came to a stop before Leylo, and Corinne held her breath, waiting. 

Isolde bowed her head respectfully, her hands clasped together before her. “ _Mwonaji_ ,” she said, somewhat clumsily, but Corinne blinked in surprise to hear the archaic Rivaini word for the seers and wise women. “We are honoured beyond measure to have you in our home.”

Leylo smiled warmly, and bowed her head in return. “The honour is ours, Lady Guerrin,” she said, “though I must apologise- though I speak for my mother, I am not one of the council. The honorific is unnecessary.”

“Of course,” the Arlessa said. She was bright and sharp, her colours all in metal tones, and it drew to mind tempered steel and gilded armour; Leylo by comparison was more reserved, more gentle, the vibrant jewel tones of her outfit far softer and less militaristically inclined than Isolde’s. “How may I refer to you to make you most comfortable?”

“Leylo is fine, please. Lady Leylo if we must stand upon formalities, but I am in no way in possession of a noble title.”

Isolde accepted the correction gracefully. “Ah, but where are my manners?” She turned and gestured for the Grand Enchanter to come forward. “I am greatly humbled to bear witness to a meeting of such fine women- Lady Leylo, may I present Grand Enchanter Fiona, leader of the rebel mage faction and a dear friend.”

“It’s a great pleasure to meet a woman of such great renown,” Leylo said, offering the same nod of acknowledgement that she had to Isolde. “Even in Rivain, the political achievements of the Grand Enchanter are common topics around the market.”

Corinne had a brief moment to wonder whether Leylo meant it is a backhanded compliment- because of _course_ the rebellion was a hotly debated topic, when it had caused the forceful annulment of their Circle at the hands of foreign soldiers. But her aunt smiled serenely, nothing unpleasant in her face, and if Fiona found issue with her greeting, she did not show it either. “The pleasure is mine,” she said; her accent was stronger than the Arlessa’s. “We hear many things about the work of the seers council, and it heartens me greatly to see them take such an interest in the welfare of the greater mage community.”

“We do strive to uphold community above all else- it benefits no one to encourage the accumulation of wealth at the expense of others. The same can be said for the rights and freedoms of our peoples.”

Fiona nodded her head appreciatively. “Well said, Lady Leylo.”

The little girl holding tight to Fiona’s hand cleared her throat in a very exaggerated _ahem_ , and Corinne was vastly grateful to her. If she rolled her eyes any harder at the delicate posturing of the three women, she might just go blind. 

Isolde laughed, politely covering her mouth so as not to aggravate her daughter’s pride. “But how rude of me, I’ve not introduced the most important guest,” she said, sharing an indulgent look with Leylo that was by far the most genuine display of emotion that either of them had shown so far. “Lady Leylo, might I introduce my daughter, Lady Rowan Guerrin-”

“I’m a mage _too_ , you know,” Rowan announced grandly, and Fiona quite visibly bit her lip and looked to the side to stop herself from laughing. 

Leylo knelt down before her, her face quite solemn; Corinne had to commend her for that. It probably came with the territory of having raised her own brood of mage children and grandchildren. “You have great power within you, young lady,” she said seriously, though there was a twinkle in her eyes. “I sensed it immediately once I arrived.”

“Are _you_ a mage too?”

“I am, yes.”

Rowan peered past her to look at the rest of the party, her little brow furrowed. “Are they _all_ mages?”

“Only one.” Leylo turned slightly and gestured for Corinne, beckoning her forward. “My niece, Corinne. She is a mage, just like you.”

Put on the spot like that, Corinne could only grin and resist the urge to rub at the back of her neck awkwardly as she stepped forward. Instead she waved to Rowan, winking at her as if they shared in some great conspiracy together.

“Your niece?” Isolde asked; Corinne glanced at her, and felt an unpleasant tightness at the way she stared at her. Her brow was furrowed quizzically- her daughter’s resemblance to her was extraordinary- and there was a look on her face that set alarm bells ringing within her. “Forgive me, but have we met before? You look remarkably familiar- do you travel outside of Rivain often?”

If it could be considered at all socially acceptable to allow the stone to swallow her up right then and there, she would have done it. Split the earth, slid between the flagstones and cover the entrance up behind her, to hide in the dark for as long as necessary. The smile she’d fixed to her face felt more like a grimace, and when she finally managed to force up the words that were choking her, they sounded alarmingly hoarse. “I’m adopted,” she said, trying to say it cheerfully and failing. “And no, I’ve never been to Ferelden in my life.”

There was only one reason why the Arlessa would find her features familiar, and she didn’t want to think about it. She was stressed enough as it was without allowing herself to consider the fact that she now risked coming into contact with people who could place her just by seeing her face and recognising Lord or Lady Trevelyan in her eyes, or the shape of her jaw.

She wanted _less_ than nothing to do with them. 

She could see Isolde consider the matter, the calculations going on behind her eyes, but after an agonising heartbeat she smiled, and the topic was dropped. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Lady Corinne,” she said. “Welcome to our home.”

The rest of the introductions went smoothly enough- and interestingly, Isolde and Fiona both seemed familiar with the concept of the ilaalin, and both expressed their immense respect for Riyo and Riana. Riyo smiled faintly, a lifetime of habit making them well accustomed to such a response, but Riana seemed genuinely perplexed and delighted at being noticed. 

“I apologise that my husband is not here to greet you,” Isolde said once the introductions were done, and there was a tinge of regret in her voice that was heartbreakingly genuine. “Eamon’s age is beginning to catch up with him, and he had an illness several months ago that he has struggled to shake off.”

“Will he be joining us for dinner?” Leylo asked.

“Perhaps- I could not rule it out entirely.” She smiled. “But again, where are my manners? Keeping you out here in the sun and the dust, when I am sure you are quite exhausted. Shall I have my people show you to your rooms?”

Isolde peeled away from the main group, taking Leylo by the elbow and guiding her inside as if they were old friends; Fiona and Riyo smiled mildly at one another, and she gestured for them to go up the steps ahead of her, offering her hand to Rowan again and letting the little girl lead the way. 

Corinne watched them go and sighed wearily, her shoulders drooping into a slouch now that she wasn’t on parade for her aunt’s political allies. 

“Can I take your bag, my Lady?” came a voice at her elbow, and Corinne lurched in surprise, laughing shakily when she found nothing more sinister than a Redcliffe servant at her side.

“Spirits, does she have you practice that? The silent walking thing?” The woman just stared at her, a tiny crease between her eyes as if she wasn’t sure if Corinne was jesting or not. “No? Creeping up on people comes naturally to you?”

The woman stared at her for a moment longer, before shaking her head in bemusement. “I am here to assist you in whatever you should require, my Lady,” she said instead, no hint of wariness or scepticism in her voice. “Would you like me to take your bag?”

She wasn’t alone- a half dozen other servants had appeared while she’d been distracted, and were offering their services to the rest of the family. Niino had handed a squabbling Samira over to one of them with a look of immense relief, while Asha and Galad were in the process of unburdening themselves from their own baggage, piling it into the waiting arms of the staff. Vilas was nowhere to be seen.

Feeling self conscious, Corinne hefted her satchel a little higher on her shoulder. “It’s fine, it’s just a bag, I can carry it.” She hesitated. “And, um, you don’t have to call me Lady. Just Corinne is fine.”

The woman nodded in acknowledgement. “If you and your guardian will follow me, I will show you to your room for this evening.”

Riana made a pouting expression when she turned away. “Oh, so you get to be _my Lady_ , but I’m just _the guardian?_ Oh I see how this is gonna turn out.”

Corinne took her by the arm and dragged her along after the servant woman, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that none of the others were anywhere within hearing range. “Did you know about this?” she asked under her breath, leaning in close so that Riana could hear her.

“Not a thing- what makes you think I would?”

“She’s your _mother!_ ”

“And she’s _your_ mentor!” Riana snapped back, lowering her voice when one of the servants guiding them to their room glanced back at them. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Corinne rolled her eyes. “How many other surprises is she going to drop on us without warning?” she muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Just frustrated.” Frustrated _and_ suspicious, it seemed. She was beginning to feel stupid for her ongoing paranoia, stretched too thin from having to be vigilant at all times. Maybe if she’d made more of an effort to understand the situation in Rivain as a younger woman, maybe if she’d attended more than one Seer’s Meet, or taken Ishaaro up on her repeated offers to learn more about the duties of the matriarchs...

The closer she poked at her pain, the more it seemed to reflect back at her a woman that she didn’t want to acknowledge- a woman hurt that her family would keep secrets from her, but who had made very little effort to integrate herself into their way of life. A woman who had been quite content to hide herself away in the wilderness and let others take the risks for her. 

There was something sitting in her chest that felt remarkably like shame, and she swallowed it down.

“Why are there pictures of dogs everywhere?” Riana whispered in horror, and that was all it took to send Corinne into fits of hysterical laughter. Whether Ria had sensed her unhappiness and sought to cheer her up, or whether she’d just reached the point where she couldn’t stay silent any longer about the Ferelden obsession with their pets, she couldn’t say. Whichever the answer was, she felt blessed to have her by her side. 

Their room was palatial compared to the roadside inns they’d been staying in for the last few weeks- not to mention the nights they’d spent camped in the forest- and they both whimpered happily at the sight of the deep stone basin along the far wall. 

“My Lady wishes you to know that you are free to explore the castle as it pleases you, and will have someone sent to collect you for supper,” the servant woman said. “Is there anything you require in-”

“Hot water,” they both said in unison. 

She bowed and left, closing the door carefully behind her.

Riana let out a long, drawn out groan and tossed her bag onto the nearest bed, kicking her shoes off a moment later. “Spirits, please hear my plea and just remove my feet entirely.”

“I could do it for you, you know,” Corinne said, wandering over to the other bed and pulling her notebook out of her satchel as she sat down.

“I believe I was asking the universe to provide for me, cousin, and it’s rude for you to interject.”

Corinne adopted an innocent expression. “Did you even stop to consider that maybe I’m simply manifesting the will of the universe? Your prayers answered and yet you shun the solution?” 

“You have _never_ been the answer to my prayers,” Riana said, upending her bag on the bed and beginning to pick through the clothing, “only a menace to my peace of mind.”

There was a frantic knocking on the door, almost panicked, and they exchanged glances, before Corinne shrugged and hurried over to the door; she’d barely turned the handle before the door was being thrown open from the hallway, someone pushing violently to make their way into the room.

Corinne let out an undignified squawk of surprise as she stumbled backwards, and Riana immediately rose to her knees on the bed, her hand going to the place on her belt where her sword normally sat. 

And then Vilas stumbled through the door, scowling furiously when he saw Corinne standing on the other side.

“Move out of the _way_ ,” he said, clambering up onto the bed and over to the windowsill, climbing into the frame. “You have a much better view of the training yard than I do.”

Corinne stood by the door for a few seconds longer, then pushed it closed. “No, by all means, _do_ come in,” she said wryly.

On the other bed Riana watched from where she was absently picking through her clothes and trying to smooth out the creases on her finer garments. “What do you need to see the training yard for?”

Vilas made a noise of disbelief. “I can’t believe you even need to ask me such foolish questions,” he said. “Did we or did we not get introduced to the same glorious woman? Why would I not want to see her sweaty and smiling and watch her muscles flex and strain?”

Riana stopped what she was doing and closed her eyes, muttering something that sounded like an appeal for patience to higher powers. Corinne shook her head and smiled, collecting her notebook again before she flopped down onto the bed where Vilas had so recently churned up the carefully made blankets in his quest for the window. “I’m sure if you went and enquired with Ser Muna for some training advice-”

Riana groaned. “Don’t encourage him!”

“- she’d happily oblige you,” Corinne finished, grinning.

Vilas sighed dramatically, a lovestruck expression on his face. “Mm, I don’t want training advice so much as wanting to know if her thighs could snap me in half like a twig.”

A balled up wad of fabric that Corinne recognised as a shirt went sailing past to hit Vilas in the face. 

“Can you just not go a single _day_ without tormenting me with your gross sexual fantasies?” Riana said, hands spread wide as if she was half in the process of beseeching some southern god. 

Vilas drew himself up indignantly, brushing imaginary dust off of his shoulders. “Uh, well cousin, thank you for your rudeness, but I’d like to draw your attention to one, I am ridiculously good looking, and two, I like it when there are other ridiculously good looking people for me to look at because frankly, sometimes the weight of such a burden is lonely.”

Behind them, closed her eyes and Riana mouthed “ _Wait for it._ ”

“And additionally,” Vilas went on, “I haven’t had sex in weeks, and it’s unbearably embarrassing trying to masturbate in the middle of the forest in a country that smells like unwashed dog.”

“And there’s the utterly horrifying revelation that I absolutely did not want to hear,” Riana said loudly, putting her hands over her ears.

Vilas smirked at her. “Look, just because we have one cousin who would probably quite happily make out with a tree-”

“I resent that remark,” Corinne called from where she was lying on the bed.

“- does not mean that the rest of us are comfortable trying to find pleasure while hoping that the shriek they just heard is a barn owl and not someone being murdered nearby.” He paused for a moment, clearly waiting for them to respond to his wit, but then made a distressed noise. “Oh for fuck’s sake, there are dogs carved into the window frame, what is _wrong_ with this country.”


	3. Chapter 3

She had no idea what to expect from dinner with an Arlessa and a rebel archmage, but Corinne was quickly coming to understand that nothing about this journey was something she could have anticipated ahead of time. Whether it was the complexities of war and the depths of the political machinations at play, or just something as simple as the ferocity of the cold some mornings, their trek through Ferelden was turning more and more into an odyssey with each passing day.

In the grand scheme of things, dinner was not that ominous an affair, but spirits take her, if they expected her to have relevant political opinions to contribute, they had another thing coming.

Riana, on the other hand, seemed delighted at the opportunity to dress up in anticipation of a formal dinner, and Corinne bore her determination to immaculately style the two of them with good humour. She wasn't one to concern herself with her appearance most of the time, but Riana treated it like an artform; and perhaps there was a little wistful envy in her disinterest, because Riana seemed to make her beauty look so effortless even seeing all the time she took to perfect it. 

"How did you even find the space to bring all of this?" she asked in amusement, gesturing to the extensive array of powders and balms that Riana had arranged on the table in the bedroom. "Doesn't this weigh a ton?"

"You can't allow glamour to be held back by something as simple as inconvenience," Riana said, sounding almost scandalised by the idea that she shouldn't have brought her makeup with her. "And if I had left it behind, we'd now be faced with the prospect of going to dinner with two of the most powerful women in southern Thedas looking no better than a raider waking up hungover on the first day of shore leave."

"That's a painful comparison," Corinne said, wincing at the imagery and turning back to her notebook, fingers stained from her charcoals as she tried to correct a badly drawn sketch. "I'm fairly certain no one is expecting miracles from us."

“We all have our own forms of magic, macan,” Riana said, winking at her. “Mine just happens to come in powdered form.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration, really- despite the exhaustion of several weeks on the road, and the horrors of the conflicts they’d faced, Riana looked as if she’d just stepped out of the queen’s salon in Dairsmuid’s royal palace. Her dark locs were piled high atop her head, and she’d attached a layered golden chain to the centre of her forehead, the sparkling links looping over her ears and up over her hair. She’d spent the better part of the last hour carefully painting swirling golden henna patterns down her arms, the shapes intricate and mind bogglingly precise in a way that frustrated Corinne; there was no way she’d ever have the patience for such endeavours. 

Riana waggled the delicate makeup brush in her direction, a devious grin on her face. “You’re next,” she said, leaning over the mirror to dust the same gold over her eyelids. It shone so splendidly on her dark skin, and Riana made such breathtaking beauty look utterly easy.

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all, trust me.”

“Oh I’m sorry, were you going for dirt chic? I can add some brown streaks to your cheeks to authenticate the look.” When Corinne paused and pretended to consider it, Riana laughed. “Oh, no. No, no, no. It’s not happening.”

“It was your suggestion-”

“I was trying to make fun of you, but apparently you really _are_ some wild spirit masquerading as a human,” Riana said in amusement. Sighing, she rummaged around in her collection of jars and bottles, pursuing her lips in consideration. “Alright then, what _do_ you want- something glamorous or something striking?"

Grumbling to herself, Corinne put her notebook down with great reluctance and rolled over to face her. "What's the difference?"

"Striking is when you look like you're going to walk over them on your way to conquering everyone," Riana said, and then grinned cheekily. "Glamorous is when they want to get you alone before you do it."

Corinne wrinkled her nose as she wandered over and sat down beside her. "I don't know that either of them sounds like something I'd do," she said. 

"Mm, we'll go with striking then," Riana said, fishing through her collection as she looked for the appropriate powder pot; she settled on something that looked at a glance to be a sort of jade green. "Less overtly sexual, if that's what's making you uncomfortable."

"I'm surprised you'd be comfortable with either," Corinne said, dutifully closing her eyes when Riana indicated. "The whole sexual thing, I mean."

The touch of the brush was a whisper over her skin, ritualistic in a way that she could appreciate and relax to. "It's not really that complicated. I like the way I look when I dress up, and I like looking in the looking glass and knowing I'm beautiful. That doesn't have anything to do with sex- although sometimes it's nice to feel the power that comes with knowing someone finds me desirable."

"See, that would just make me uncomfortable."

"I suppose the difference is that you grew up with mostly only yourself for company, whereas even if I'm not a seer, I am the daughter and granddaughter of one, and I've never _not_ been noticed and deferred to and respected and desired. Just because I have no intention of acting on their desires or find the entire idea if sexual desire distasteful doesn't mean I don't understand it."

“Mm,” Corinne said noncommittally. The brush tickled where Riana smoothed it over her face, and more than once she had to fight not to wiggle backwards out of reach. 

Riana laughed softly. “It’s fine, I’m not gonna nag at you about it,” she said, smoothing her fingertips over her cheeks to blend the powders. “That would be remarkably hypocritical on my part.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything, but now that you’ve brought it up...”

She slapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t be a fiend,” she said with mock fierceness in her voice. “I’ll have to run crying to mother, and do you know how terrible this gold looks when it runs?”

Corinne cracked open an eye to look at her warily. “Not that terrible?” she guessed.

“Actually it looks incredible, and I did a weeping bird theme for the Festival of Fire last summer and I was _utterly_ divine.” Riana smiled ruefully. “But my point remains!”

“I’ve already forgotten what your point was.”

“Then hold still while I finish this.”

When the bell rang in the distance for supper, Riana had finished working her magic on the two of them, and while she couldn’t convince Corinne to let her paint the henna art along her arms and shoulders, she did talk her into borrowing a dress for the evening. “I’m going to be freezing,” Corinne said pointedly as Riana laced the cinch around her waist, the only thing holding the fabric to any sort of shape around her. The dress was completely backless, showcasing the elaborate vine tattoo that twined over her shoulder and down her spine before vanishing under the cinch- it extended a good deal lower than that, but she wasn’t about to show off _that_ much flesh at a dinner party. 

“Nonsense,” Riana said absently, the frown as she concentrated almost evident in her voice. “You’ll be indoors, and you love the weather anyway. You always run out in the rain without a care for the cold. Besides, you used to wear next to nothing in Rivain and it didn’t bother you.”

“In Rivain I fit in,” she said bluntly. “In Rivain it’s normal to be tattooed and barefoot, whereas here-”

“Here you are in the company of several other people who are also heavily tattooed, and none of whom are barefoot, and you look magnificent.” Riana stepped back and made a noise of approval, scrutinizing her carefully as she circled around her. “Honestly, you look immaculate, don’t fret.” 

A knock on the door announced the arrival of their escort, and they let the servant guide them through the labyrinthine castle towards the dining hall. Nearly everyone else had gathered ahead of them- Vilas appeared to be the only family member still unaccounted for, and there was a large chair in the centre of the table that remained empty, beside which Isolde was seated. Presumably that was the Arl’s seat, and as predicted he had not appeared to share the meal with them. 

Isolde stood to greet them, coming around the table to take each of them by the hand in turn, enclosing her hands gently around theirs as if welcoming an old friend. “We’re so pleased to have you with us this evening, my dears,” she said, gesturing to their seats. “We are just waiting on-”

There was a small commotion in the hallway and they turned to see Vilas grinning from ear to ear while keeping the door from closing; the reason for this a moment later became apparent when a giant mabari war hound came trotting through the frame, just as fierce and daunting as they’d seemed at a distance... except that this one had a small girl perched upon its back, as one would ride a horse, and the hound was very proudly sporting a bright red bow around its neck instead of a collar.

“My apologies for running late, but I do believe the dining hall is being annexed by an invading force,” Vilas said, clearly delighted by the situation. “I myself was an unfortunate casualty- I was ordered to escort the conqueror here under pains of no dessert.”

Rowan looked remarkably too smug as the mabari trotted forward, tongue lolling happily from its mouth; everyone did their best not to break out into laughter, and Corinne had to bite the inside of her cheek to fight it back. 

Isolde sighed, smiling, and went to greet her daughter. “I believe you were to have dinner in the nursery, my dear little conqueror,” she said pointedly. 

“I’ve _had_ dinner,” Rowan replied loftily. “Now I’ve come to talk about the important things with the grown ups.”

“It is kind of you to think of imparting your wisdom on us, my love, but our guests are very tired and hungry- I don’t know that they’d be able to keep up with you tonight.”

The mabari barked happily, and Rowan put her hand on her head. “Shhh, puppy,” she said, giggling when the dog growled playfully at her. She looked up at her mother and sighed dramatically. “I _suppose_ I can come again on another night,” she said woefully, as if it were the greatest inconvenience she’d ever faced. 

“That would be appreciated, my love,” Isolde said, fighting to keep a straight face. “If you return to the nursery, I’ll see to it that you get some extra dessert for your troubles.”

“I thought I was the one being offered the extra dessert,” Vilas called from the doorway.

“He gets extra dessert too,” Rowan said, her expression extremely serious. “I like him.”

Vilas sketched a deeply exaggerated bow towards her. “I remain my Lady’s humble servant.”

Apparently satisfied with the response to her demands, Rowan sniffed haughtily and patted the mabari on the head. “Go on, puppy,” she said, and the dog patiently turned and headed back towards the door, pausing for just a moment to sniff at Vilas’ hand when he extended it to her. 

The moment she was out of earshot, Corinne and Riana and Vilas burst into peals of laughter. “Forgive me, Lady Isolde, but she is utterly adorable,” Corinne said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

There was a hint of colour in Isolde’s cheeks, as if she were mildly embarrassed by her daughter’s actions, but amused despite them. “She has a ways to go in grasping the concept of humility,” Isolde said, smiling ruefully. “I am afraid I am somewhat indulgent with her, after the loss of her brother.”

“Ah, but indulging our children is one of the greatest joys a mother can experience, is it not?” Leylo said as they all found their seats again. 

Isolde’s smile was sad as she gestured for the servants to begin offering the first course. “Indeed it is,” she said, “and it is one I do not intend to squander this time around.”

The conversation was light and amiable for the better part of dinner, and Corinne allowed herself the risk of relaxing; as each course came and went and no prying questions as to the nature of her parentage or her reasons for attending the conclave were aired, she began to believe that she might have misjudged her hostess. 

She was of course far too optimistic.

“So, Lady Corinne,” Fiona said, setting her goblet down and lacing her fingers together as she turned to face her, “am I to understand that you are a seer in training, like your aunt?”

Corinne glanced down the table towards Leylo, who quite pointedly kept her expression blank. Finding no solace there, she swallowed nervously and turned back to Fiona. “Not... precisely,” she said hesitantly. “My grasp of arcane theology is limited at best- my strongest qualities have always been derived from manipulation of the physical world.”

“Interesting- did you learn at the Circle of Dairsmuid, if not under the tutelage of the Council?”

“I’ve actually never been a member of a Circle,” she said, uncomfortable with how direct the questions were becoming so quickly. “I visited the Dairsmuid Circle several times to visit a cousin, but I was never a-”

She wanted to say inmate.

“Never a student,” she said instead, trying to cover up the stumble.

“How, then, did you come across your skills?”

Corinne could feel the net slowly being drawn around her, but for the life of her she couldn’t tell where it was about to be sprung from. “Self taught, for the most part,” she said with great reluctance. “It all came to me quite naturally.”

Fiona leaned back with a satisfied expression on her face, like a kitten presented with a bowl of cream. “And yet you stand before us today as a fully competent mage of no insignificant gift, without ever having suffered through the indignity of imprisonment or Harrowing. Remarkable.”

Her stomach lurched and she sat up straighter. “Now, just one moment-”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, my dear,” Isolde said soothingly. “You have set an extraordinary precedent, one that provides us with no end of opportunities.”

The net closed around her. “I am _not_ a means to an end,” she said sharply, and beside her Riana put her hand over hers on the table. 

“Of course not, my dear,” Fiona said, “but your presence at a meeting as crucial as the coming conclave must not be downplayed. You are a mage of mature years- not an untried young girl- who was raised with next to no supervision, no formal training, and yet have come out the other side as a woman of extraordinary power and control. There are very few mages in all of Thedas who can say they have had the same opportunities that you have had.”

Her head spinning, Corinne took a deep breath and said “I can’t believe I’m saying this, exactly, but my circumstances were rather unique. I hardly think that my success is something to be aspired to by the mages within the Circles, given our vastly different backgrounds.”

“So do you think the mages should simply have stayed in their towers, content to trade their basic human rights away in exchange for a roof over their heads?”

Corinne gritted her teeth, regretting saying anything. “I _think_ ,” she said, “that my opinion is not relevant, given that the topic at hand is about a system of abuse and control that I have not been subjected to.” She wanted to add _and I’ll thank you not to put words in my mouth_ but the last thing she needed was to cause a political incident simply because she sounded like a brat. 

“You are a mage, yourself,” Fiona said, “how can you have no opinion on the treatment of your fellows?”

Apparently it was just one of those evenings. “I didn’t say I had no opinion, only that my opinion was not relevant,” she said pointedly. “There is no reason that my voice should be considered more crucial to the discussions occurring than any of the hundreds upon thousands of mages who have been subjected to such a system, and have a far greater stake in the outcome.”

“But in the arguments about the dangers inherent in allowing mages freedom, would it not greatly benefit both sides to see the success of a free mage, such as yourself?” Isolde said.

“I am only one mage, my Lady. One woman.”

“And it was only one mage who blew up the Kirkwall Chantry. One mage who discovered the secret cure to Tranquility and pushed forward the impetus for a vote on Circle and Chantry separation.” Isolde watched her carefully over the rim of her goblet. “One mage can do a great many things.”

Corinne had no answer for that that wasn’t unspeakably rude, and the silence at the table grew into a painful tension as neither woman dropped their gaze. Finally Riyo cleared their throat politely, drawing attention to themself. 

“I heard rumours in Denerim that the mages were not the only faction to seek sanctuary in Ferelden,” they said, glancing at Corinne for only a fraction of a second, but it was enough for her to know that they had deliberately changed the subject for her sake. “The talk in the streets seemed to indicate that the bulk of the templar forces were allowed passage along the northern Imperial Highway.”

Isolde’s mouth twisted distastefully, as if she had eaten something that disagreed with her. “They are not rumours,” she said. “King Alistair and Queen Anora allowed the templar order to seek refuge in Therinfal Redoubt, an old Seeker stronghold in the Brecilian Passage. It had been abandoned for so long that I did not even know of its existence until word reached us of the throne’s offer of asylum.”

Riana exchanged a look with Corinne and braved interjecting. “Why in the Void would the templars seek refuge in Ferelden, of all places?” she asked, pushing the last of her food around absently with her fork. “And in an abandoned castle at that- surely there are more feasible options for them.”

“With Orlais at war and the resources of the Chantry denied to them?” Isolde asked in response, eyebrows raised as if in amusement.

“Politically, it makes a certain sense,” Fiona said instead, setting her goblet down on the table. “With the civil war raging in Orlais, and the templars having broken their fealty to the Chantry, Ferelden is in a unique position to capitalize on the weakness of her former conqueror.”

“You say it so candidly,” Riyo said, delicately tearing apart a piece of bread. 

Isolde made a scoffing noise. “There is no point in cleverly veiled words at this point, messere- the south is in anarchy, and Duke Gaspard has made no secret of his desire to turn his attention over the mountains, should he gain the throne.” Her lip curled in what could only be taken to be loathing. “He humiliated my husband’s brother some years ago, in a pathetic attempt to goad Ferelden into conflict. Should he take the throne, it is inevitable that he would look to expand Orlais’ reach by force- and like the last occupation, he would seek the blessing of the Chantry to do so.”

She paused to take a drink of wine, clearly taking the moment to calm herself before continuing. “By allowing the Lord Seeker access to their ancient stronghold on Ferelden soil, the throne gains a powerful level of influence over the order in coming years, and that might be all the difference if- or when- Val Royeaux flexes its might again.”

“So Ferelden allows a war to foment within its own borders, in the hope that it might gain them allies in a theorized future war?” 

Isolde lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Does not Rivain tolerate the presence of the Andrastian faith despite the atrocities committed against your people, simply because it helps to keep the qunari at bay?”

Riyo smiled ruefully, shaking their head, but Corinne could see the wariness in their eyes. “I am afraid the situation is far more complex than your summary suggests,” they said.

“As too is Ferelden’s,” Isolde said, sharing a look with Fiona. “As much as we regret the presence of the templar force so close to our own borders, it is a trial we must weather.”

“And hopefully, Divine Justinia’s calls for peace will make such conversations moot,” Fiona said.

“Now there’s something we can all agree on,” Galad said cheerfully, holding his goblet aloft in a toast. The rest of the table quickly followed suit, lifting their drinks in a similar fashion and echoing Fiona’s words. Corinne was the last to raise her glass, and even then she only did so half-heartedly, her stomach turning over unhappily as she obsessed over these new revelations. 

She had been sent to the conclave deliberately, with great planning and forethought on the part of her family; she couldn’t deny that now. This wasn’t just about her future, and her happiness- this was about using her as a prop against the arguments of the Chantry, setting her up as some golden child that all mages should aspire to. 

The servants began to clear away the plates, and Corinne couldn’t stand the weight of expectations anymore.

“I’m going to get some air,” she mumbled to Riana, pushing out of her chair before anyone could object.


	4. Chapter 4

The halls would have been confusing at the best of times, but they were particularly frustrating when she was doing her best to stay calm and hold back the angry tears that were burning up inside of her. Every corridor looked the same, and she couldn’t stay focused long enough to keep track of where she was going.

When she found herself staring with fists clenched at a rather innocuous painting of a mountain scene, unsure of where she was or even how she’d gotten there, she bowed her head and gritted her teeth and accepted the fact that she’d stormed off in a tantrum without any regard for what she was doing.

Taking a deep breath, she relaxed her fists with difficulty and looked up, rubbing at her burning eyes and realising too late that she’d likely smeared Riana’s carefully applied makeup all over her face. She had no idea how far she’d wandered from the dining hall, or the guest wing, so there was nothing else for it but to ask for help.

Smoothing her hands down on the gown and trying not to wince when she saw the faint streaks of colour left behind, she cleared her throat and swallowed down the worst of her emotions and started walking with more purpose, peering down each corridor until she finally spotted someone. A young woman at the far end of the hall was carrying an armload of linens, and she was humming to herself, clearly unaware that she was no longer alone. 

“Excuse me,” Corinne called, hurrying after the young woman. The servant was clearly not expecting to be disturbed- she let out a squeak of surprise, dropping the linens when Corinne appeared at her elbow. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, kneeling to help her pick them up again. “I just wondered if you could help me with some directions.”

“My Lady, of course, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Corinne said, standing up and offering the linens to her. “I just need to know if there’s somewhere I can get outside? Maybe a balcony?”

The young woman babbled a series of directions at her, her face flaming as she clutched the now crumpled linens to her chest, before turning and fleeing in the opposite direction. 

Corinne watched her go in bemusement, before muttering to herself “My Lady?” She looked down at her creased and stained dress. “They’re lucky I don’t have dirt under my fingernails, but they still won’t shut up with the pointless titles.”

With the servant’s directions she found the door in question, and pushed it open to find a small balcony overlooking the lake; the wind had picked up in the hours since dusk, and it tugged at her dress and her hair, sharp and cool with the looming promise of rain. She breathed it in, hugging her arms around herself in a half hearted attempt to ward against the cold.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness as she approached the far wall, her breathing coming a little easier now that she was outdoors and away from the pressures of the conversations and expectations of her family’s allies. 

She sighed wearily and leaned heavily against the balustrade, breathing in the damp night air as she watched the lightning flicker over the lake. It wouldn’t be long now, she reassured herself. The wind tugged at her hair, batting it into her face, and she reached up almost absently to push it aside as she stared out into the night, waiting to feel the moment when the sharp cold gave way to the rain, the moment when the clarity of the air around her became dark and deep and sodden and vibrant with the storm.

She breathed out slowly, and the fog that danced from her lips shaped itself into a tiny dragonling, no bigger than a mouse. She propped her chin up on her hand and made the little apparition dance and pounce towards her other hand, wagging her finger at it until it slowly dissipated into naught. 

She smiled faintly, drumming her fingers against the wall, and wondered what she was even doing in Ferelden.

“Hello,” said a small voice behind her, and Corinne glanced over her shoulder. Standing in the doorway in a fine red nightgown and clutching a worn toy mabari was the Arlessa’s young daughter, Rowan, her hair still damp and her skin scrubbed pink from a recent bath. She was barefoot despite the bite in the air, and didn’t seem at all perturbed by it at all- Corinne had to admire her for that. 

Turning to face the girl, she crouched down so that they were on a similar height. “Hello,” she said. “What are you doing out here?”

“Nursie went to fetch some water, so I snuck out,” she said knowledgeably, in the lofty tones that only a young child can manage with sincerity. “What are _you_ doing out here?”

Corinne smiled ruefully. “I’m actually hiding,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, winking at Rowan as if she’d just included her in a grand secret. “I’m not very good at fancy dinners with lots of important talking.”

Rowan nodded solemnly, as if this was something she understood well. “I’m not allowed to go to many,” she said, shifting her toy mabari from one arm to the other. “Most of the time I stay with nursie when mother has guests, although sometimes I’m allowed to meet them. I have to go to bed lots though, like tonight.”

Smiling gently, Corinne nodded as well. “It’s very boring, don’t worry,” she said. “You’re not really missing out on lots.”

“I’m going to be the Arlessa one day,” Rowan said airily, “so I should go to the dinners so that people know that.”

Corinne bit her tongue to keep from laughing. “I’m quite certain that everyone already knows you’re going to be the Arlessa,” she said patiently. “Your mother had to fight very hard to make sure it was allowed.”

Rowan sighed with all the weariness of an eighty year old woman, and Corinne bit back another laugh. “Yes but how will they know it’s _me?_ ” she said. “If mother doesn’t let me go to the dinners maybe someone else will pretend to be me and everyone will let _her_ be the Arlessa.” 

“I don’t think that’s likely to be something you’ll have to worry about.”

“Are _you_ an Arlessa?” the girl asked loftily. 

Corinne shook her head, laughing gently. “No, thank goodness, I’m not.”

“Do they not have Arlessas in the place where you are from?”

“I’m sort of from a lot of different places, but no, we don’t.”

“I’m going to be a _mage_ Arlessa,” Rowan continued, blissfully drifting from one point in the conversation to the next with no apparent rhyme or reason. “Mother says that’s very special, and that _I’m_ special.”

Corinne looked at her carefully, at the serene expression on her little face and the utter conviction with which she stated such truths. Twenty years ago, she could very well have been standing in Rowan’s place, had things turned out differently- she’d had the same certainty, the same utter confidence in herself and her abilities, but the Trevelyans had seen her as a threat and a great shame against their name. If they’d loved her, if they’d embraced her gift, would she have been like little Rowan Guerrin was now?

The thought made her stomach seethe unhappily- there was nothing about the Trevelyans the could rouse any joy at the thought of being raised and loved by them, and trying to imagine a world without Nadifa and Benan? Without Ishaaro and Riana and beautiful, vibrant people who had taken her into their arms and into their hearts without question?

It made her ill to contemplate.

“It _is_ special,” she said softly, smiling sadly at her. “But it’s also very important- do you know why?”

Rowan puffed up quite noticeably, preening in delight. “There haven’t been any mage Arlessas before,” she said, and Corinne noticed for the first time a slight lisp when she tried to fit her mouth around the lengthy syllables of _arlessas_. “I have to do a good job.” 

_It’s a little more than that_ hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she hesitated; she did not know why she abruptly felt it important to impart on her the words she wished she’d had as a girl, given that she had grown up a wild thing and Rowan was destined for politics and leadership, but something was nagging at her all the same. While she did not doubt Isolde’s intentions were anything but good, the point remained that she was not a mage, no matter how greatly her life had been impacted by magic. Rowan would be a powerful woman one day, and her words would carry great weight. 

There was an opportunity here, and Corinne could not truly say what prompted her to take it.

She held out her hand politely, offering it to Rowan. “May I show you something?” she asked solemnly, treating the little girl with the respect she was due. The show of genuflection apparently delighted Rowan, who sniffed some vague kind of assent and allowed herself to be picked up, giggling and throwing her arms around Corinne’s neck. 

She hefted her up onto her hip and carried her over to the edge of the balcony, over to where they could see the lights in the tent city by the lake edge. From here it was a little difficult to make out any details, especially this late in the evening with the storm clouds turning grey and black and with so much woodfire smoke hanging in the air, but the blur of light against the shore was still impressive.

“You see those lights?” she asked, pointing carefully with one hand so as not to lose her grip on the girl with the other- the last thing she needed was for the precious heir to Redcliffe to go tumbling over the railing and into the rocky water far below. “Over on the shore?”

Rowan nodded solemnly. “Those are the mages,” she said. “They’re like me.”

“Do you know why they’re there?”

“The rebellion,” she said, spacing each syllable out as if it were its own word. 

Corinne looked back out into the night, out towards the camp lights. “There are hundreds and thousands of mages in the world,” she said, “and a great many have come here, to Redcliffe, because your mother offered them sanctuary. They have no families, no homes, no jobs-”

“They can just build homes,” Rowan said magnanimously. 

“It’s not quite so simple,” Corinne said, hesitating as she considered how to explain it to a noble girl with no sense of what it was to be desperate, of what it was to sink into hysteria and hopelessness at the thought of the future, that these mages were not quite like her after all. “Imagine if you woke up tomorrow and the castle was empty. Your mother, your father, your nurse- all of them gone. What would you do?”

Rowan’s brow furrowed as she considered the prospect fiercely. “I would find one of the guards and-”

“No guards. Everyone is gone- it’s just you.”

Her eyes widened. “I could jump on the bed?” she whispered, a wondrous glee creeping into her voice. 

Corinne laughed, unable to help herself. “You could,” she conceded with a nod of her head, “which would be fun for a while, but what about after that? What about when you needed lunch, or supper?”

“I would go to the larder and eat whatever I pleased,” she said, with the glazed look of awe that implied she was going to go straight for the tea cake.

“And in a few days when the food in the larder was stale, or rotten? What about when you needed a bath, or wanted fresh clothes? What then?”

Rowan scrunched up her nose, suspicion and displeasure coming into her face. “I don’t want to,” she said, squirming in Corinne’s arm until Corinne was forced to adjust her grip or drop her. 

“It’s scary, isn’t it?” she asked, gently rocking from side to side to soothe her away from the edge of a tantrum. “It’d be fun for a few days, because you could do whatever you want, but after that, it’d be scary.”

When she glanced down, she smiled to see Rowan with her toy mabari pressed up to her mouth, chewing absently on one of the ragged ears. “I don’t wanna,” she said, somewhat sulkily now as she drooped her head onto Corinne’s shoulder. 

“Well, that’s what it’s like for the mages out there, on the other side of the lake,” Corinne said, rocking the girl gently to further ease her temper. “For a while it was great, because they could do what they wanted and run around and jump on the bed and eat whatever they like, but now they’re tired and they’re grumpy and they’re frightened and hungry, and they don’t know what to do.”

“They can’t sleep in my room,” Rowan said crossly.

“What they need is for someone to show them what to do,” Corinne continued. “They just need a chance to learn, and try for themselves. Where I come from, mages don’t go into a tower- we stay with our families, unless we really want to, and they teach us our magic as well as how to be a grownup.” She gestured to the shoreline, where the lights flickered as the wind buffeted them. “For a lot of those people, they haven’t had anyone teach them how to be a grownup. But that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve the chance to try to learn.”

Rowan didn’t answer, and she looked down to see her eyes half shut, the mabari wedged tight up against her mouth. 

“And that means that you have to be a good job as the Arlessa,” she said softly, smoothing the hair away from her face. “You have to show everyone that it’s easy, that you can be a grownup mage _and_ a leader and help others.”

The words could just have easily been directed at her, and she wondered whether it was a quiet acknowledgement of what her mother and her grandmother and her aunt had been trying to impress upon her these last few months, and what the Arlessa and Grand Enchanter had said to her tonight. It was easier to speak them aloud when her captive audience had a toy dog stuffed in her mouth, and did not have the analytical skills to turn the conversation back on her. 

Who knew that life changing revelations could come to you on a stormy night while soothing a tired, spoiled noble mage?

From behind her, someone cleared their throat, and Corinne felt her moment of calm acceptance dissolve; she closed her eyes and only stopped herself from groaning by the slimmest of margins, bracing herself for the ‘ _I told you so_ ’ that was inevitably about to follow.

“There you are, my darling,” came the familiar voice of their hostess, instead of the insufferable tirade she’d been expecting. Surprised, Corinne turned to see Isolde standing just inside the door to the balcony, a serene smile on her face and a knowing look in her eyes; as Rowan lifted her head blearily, perking up at the sound of her mother’s voice, Corinne knew with utter certainty that Isolde had been listening to most of their conversation. “Here I was thinking you’d gone to bed an hour ago.”

Rowan scrubbed at her face with a small bunched fist, the mabari swinging wildly in her hand as she tried to clear her eyes. “I had my bath,” she said petulantly, as if that excused her attempts to avoid bedtime; she squirmed in Corinne’s arms until she was forced to let her down onto the ground, and she weaved a little on her feet as she tottered over to Isolde’s side. “Braxton wanted to go outside.”

“How kind of you to think of your toy’s needs,” Isolde said with amusement. “But I think Braxton wants to go to bed now.”

“Really?”

“Really. Nursie will be frantic looking for you, my love,” she said, smoothing back her hair. “You should return to bed before she has a conniption.” 

Rowan sighed in resignation. “Good night mother,” she said in a sing song voice, curtseying briefly. She wobbled as she spun to face Corinne, offering her the same gesture. “Goodnight Lady Corinne.”

Corinne smiled warmly at her. “Goodnight, Lady Rowan,” she said, bowing in her direction.

Apparently satisfied, Rowan turned abruptly on her heel and flounced off through the door, singing to herself as she traipsed back down the hallway towards the family suite. 

Corinne and Isolde stood in silence, both of them listening to her little voice as it faded far into the night. When Isolde glanced at her, Corinne offered the same smile to her. “Your daughter is an absolute delight,” she said. “She must bring you a great deal of joy.”

Isolde was unflinching in her answer. “She does,” she said, lifting her chin as if she had spent a lifetime needing to defend such a statement, expecting to be rebuked for it. “She brought happiness back to my life when I thought such a thing impossible.”

“I meant no disrespect- it is wonderful to see a mother so invested in her child’s future when the world would tell her to turn away from her.”

Isolde smiled faintly, a careful look in her eyes as she moved to stand beside Corinne at the balustrade. Corinne watched her warily; as impressed enough as she was with the Arlessa’s fierce determination and pride in her family, she had the distinct notion that something she had done had placed her vaguely on her bad side. It wasn’t hard to guess at what it could possibly be- her terse attempts at conversation during dinner culminating in her storming away from the table without excusing herself certainly warranted disapproval.

But she had been raised to show respect and homage to her matriarchs, above all else- especially above her own pride-, and Lady Isolde was a woman of sterling calibre. 

“Your explanations for my daughter’s sake were a little simplistic, I feel,” Isolde said, resting her hands on the balustrade and staring out over the water. She still bore her Orlesian accent, muted after a lifetime in a foreign land, but it lingered in some of her words, unmistakable. “I appreciate you trying to impart such a challenging concept to her, but perhaps you were...”

She trailed off, and Corinne cleared her throat. “My lady?”

Isolde glanced sideways at her. “Uncharitable, I think is the word I want to use,” she said slowly. “You have a rather low opinion of your fellows.”

Corinne felt a prickle of irritation; she rolled her shoulders and breathed out slowly, cautioning herself towards calm. “Would you consider all Fereldans your fellows, my lady?” she asked pointedly. “Despite difference of circumstance and opportunity?”

“Ah, but fate and the hand of the Maker may conspire to one day place me in the lowest hovel with the poorest wretch for company, whereas it is unlikely He will ever reach down and graciously gift someone with a magical talent they did not previously have. You are bound to your magic, in a way that I will never truly be bound to my title and lands.”

“And so you presume me uncharitable to compare them to unwatched children.”

Isolde smiled faintly again, a tiny expression that spoke volumes about the calculations going on behind her eyes. “I had an interesting discussion with your aunt,” she said, changing the conversation with such speed that for more a moment Corinne was flummoxed, scrambling to follow her chain of thought. “I must confess- I had already guessed that were not her niece by blood, but I was surprised to learn just how remarkable your origins were.”

Corinne groaned, gritting her teeth in frustration. “There is nothing _remarkable_ about the family responsible for my birth,” she said. 

“How fortunate that I can take this moment to confide my agreement with you,” Isolde said, amusement in her voice. When Corinne glanced at her in stunned surprise, she actually laughed softly. “You find it surprising that the reputation of the Trevelyans extends beyond the reaches of your home? Surely you would have expected it by now.”

Trying to centre herself around this woman seemed pointless- she was always one step ahead no matter what she tried to counter with. “You speak as if from personal experience,” Corinne said slowly. 

“Of course- my quest for allies in this fight has in no way been limited to Ferelden. Given the turmoil in Kirkwall, I had wrongly hoped that the nobles of the Free Marches might bear more sympathies towards the mage plight than they inevitably did.” She laughed again. “Interesting that the family who were most aggressive in turning me away were the ones most desperate to hide their own connection to a mage.”

The old shame of it all rolled around in her stomach like soured milk, and she looked away lest the Arlessa see the anger in her face. “Their aggressive posturing hid many secrets, my Lady- I was but one of their disgraces.”

She could feel Isolde’s eyes on her, but she did not want to acknowledge her gaze. “I am sorry that your family could not recognise your gift for what it was,” she said bluntly. “It is my vision that one day soon no mother will feel she must turn away from her child out of shame and fear-”

“Please do not use my own circumstances against me to sway me over to your cause, my Lady,” Corinne said sharply, cutting her off. She leant heavily on the balustrade, her chest too tight and her heart beating too fast; she was light-headed, dizzy with anger and frustration. “You’ve a noble goal, and good intentions, but I’ll not be a piece in your great game. My story is not yours to use to further your own political ends.”

“Oh? So you have no issue with your grandmother using you as such?”

Corinne’s fingers curled around the very edge of the stone railing, and she felt it crumble slightly under the force of her anger. “I journey to Haven to represent my entire family,” she said softly. “Not to be a poster child for an uprising.”

Isolde made an amused sound. “And why did your grandmother choose you, pray tell? Why send-”

“Do you have a _point?_ ” Corinne asked, rounding on her with a snarl. 

The Arlessa did not even flinch, holding herself haughtily with a composure that made Corinne feel like a churlish brat in comparison. Her eyes were like ice, and for a moment Corinne could see a flicker of something familiar in her, the same sort of look that came over Riyo when Leylo was exhausted, or the same energy that overtook Riana when Corinne’s happy-go-lucky approach to life got her into trouble. 

She took a deep breath and stepped back in surprise, instinct kicking in when faced with the temper of an ilaalin. “My apologies,” she said quietly, dropping her gaze quickly. “That was intolerable of me.”

Isolde did not respond for a few heavy, painful moments, and Corinne thought perhaps that she did not mean to, that she had insulted her too gravely and her silence was a sign for her to leave. But finally Isolde sighed, and moved over to the balustrade again.

“I lost my son, because he loved too deeply and a demon took advantage of that,” she said softly, old bitterness in her voice as she gazed out over the lake. “Everyone tells the tales, of the dead rising from the lake bed, the poison that nearly claimed Eamon’s life, of the _great_ Hero of Ferelden riding to our rescue.”

She did not say the name with the reverence that one would expect, and Corinne waited, biting her tongue to keep from asking after it while wondering at her abrupt change of topic yet again. 

“The bards sing their songs, weave their tales, and my son becomes just another thread in the tapestry that was her glorious charge towards immortality.” Isolde laughed once, and it was not a pleasant sound. “Do not misunderstand, however, I am eternally grateful for everything Lady Cousland did for us- but my beautiful boy, my Connor, he becomes just another monster under the bed to frighten other children, a cautionary tale, instead of the loving child he was.”

“He made a deal with a demon,” Corinne said pointedly.

“He was a desperate and frightened little boy, who only wanted his father back,” Isolde said coldly. “Tell me, Lady Corinne, were their no mishaps in your youth? No moments of wild emotion and desperation that led only to regret and pain?”

_Four young children screaming in terror as Corinne called down a storm of her wrath upon them, the forest shaking under the ferocity of her anger._

_Her mother standing between her and Lord Trevelyan, begging the fool man to leave while Corinne teetered on the edge of a vast and ugly abyss._

Corinne bowed her head, and said nothing.

Beside her, the Arlessa made a knowing sound. “I thought as much,” she said, nothing smug or victorious in her tone. “We are human, and we make mistakes- some of us have a greater capacity for damage if left unchecked, but that does not make us any less worthy of the effort.”

“You speak as if you count yourself amongst our numbers, Lady Guerrin.”

“I have thrown away _everything_ for this cause- my reputation, my fortune, my pride. I have lost friends and allies, and my husband wastes away to nothing, too broken to consider our daughter’s gift to be anything but a punishment against him.” She took a steadying breath. “I lost my son for this cause, Lady Corinne, and with him went my heart. Do not question whether I have a right to stand in this fight.”

Corinne finally put together the immensely complicated web that Isolde had been weaving with her tale, nodding quietly to herself. “You are trying to make amends with Rowan, for your failings with Connor.”

Isolde froze, and Corinne realised she had misstepped.

“My Lady, please accept my apologies-”

“Once upon a time,” Isolde said coldly, her voice shaking, “I was a foolish young woman who was so caught up in my need for control that I did not reach out for help until it was far too late. I had Eamon send away the boy who would become our king, because if I couldn’t control the gossip about him, I could control his life in a way that best suited me. I was lonely, and was so desperate not to lose my son that I could not even trust my own husband with the truth, and so I kept Connor’s magic a secret.”

Corinne turned her head away, uncomfortable with having to witness her confession.

“So many people died,” Isolde said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And there is nothing I can do, _nothing_ , that will make amends for that. I can work to make sure it never happens again, that no mother is ever placed in the position I was placed in, I can fight with every breath in me to see that no family shall ever be torn apart out of fear of magic.”

She took a steadying breath, clearing her throat in an obvious attempt to hide the fact that she was on the verge of tears; Corinne desperately tried not to notice, staring out over the lake and doing her best to give her her privacy in her moment of weakness. 

“You take for granted the fact that there were people to guide you and caution you, my dear,” Isolde said, and she did not make an effort to disguise the bitterness in her voice now. “Do not judge us, not while we fight with every last breath to be allowed the same dignity for our own families.”

“I do not judge you,” Corinne said quickly, ashamed of the way her voice wobbled. 

“But you do not support us.”

Corinne breathed out slowly, hugging herself against the cold wind. “I am not the answer to your prayers,” she said quietly. “I’m no great leader, or visionary- I’m a woman who avoided being drowned at birth by only the slimmest of margins, and that does not make me anything extraordinary.”

Isolde was silent for a very long time, and Corinne thought she meant to leave the conversation at that; when she turned to go, she breathed a silent sigh of relief, ashamed of her own reticence but confused by this growing fascination with her.

“You are extraordinary precisely because you survived,” Isolde said softly from the doorway. “When by all expectations you should have died a long time ago, the fact that you still stand- whole and sane and untouched by demons or blood magic- is in itself an extraordinary act.”

“My Lady-”

“You have a chance to make a difference to the lives of thousands,” Isolde said, continuing on as if she hadn’t attempted to interrupt her. “I suppose my frustration lies in the fact that you claim such hostility to the idea of even making an attempt.”

It was not a brutal accusation, but it was no less cruel for the fact that she couched it in such a refined turn of phrase. Corinne had no answer for her, nothing she could say to defend herself or explain her reasons in a way that would not seem grossly selfish, and after a few heavy moments Isolde turned and left, her footsteps echoing all the way down the hallway.

When the rain finally came, Corinne did not move; she let the cold seep into her flesh, sinking into her bones, while the water ran in icy rivers down to her toes. And if she cried in the rain for her own cowardice, well- it was no less than she deserved.


End file.
